I think C-sections have gotten a bad rap. It’s not the real way to have a baby. The recovery sucks. You’ll always have a scar. True. True. True. But I don’t care. Didn’t the first time (a year and a half ago), don’t this time (2 weeks away).
My first baby required a last-minute C-section (thanks to her busy little unborn body tangling her neck in the umbilical cord!), so I’m fairly fresh from the experience. Although the experience turned out to be funny, being cut open was of course not fun. The pulling, the stretching, the straining, the healing (and I’m told that I luckily healed pretty quickly).
It was painful. It was scary. It was weird. But I got over it, mentally and physically. There was no other choice. The object of the game was to get the baby out of my body safely, and I frankly didn’t care the method of operation for which that process entailed. Baby born: Mission accomplished. Once I get past that again this time, the fun begins.
What tired mommy (me) doesn’t want to stay in the hospital for 4 days?
What tired mommy (me) doesn’t want the warm, chocolate chip cookies that my hospital offers to patients?
What tired mommy (me) doesn’t want to lay in bed, be relaxed and ooey-gooey on painkillers and watch idiotic episodes of Jerry Springer with no judgment (except for that one nurse who came in, looked at me sideways and asked “You’re watching Jerry Springer?” to which I responded with “No, I just woke up” and promptly turned the channel.)
You get my point.
I’m especially looking forward to my husband bringing my favorite Italian takeout, drinking the large tubs of juice and 7-Up that I’ll be encouraged to sip to stay hydrated (for healing), the friends and relatives that will inevitably – I mean, HOPEFULLY – come to see me and our new baby while I lay in bed with my chic new pink robe especially purchased for this impending mini-vacation of mine. I’ve even got a brand new fabulously-glitzy traveling bag to pack my essentials for my stay. I’m pretending as though I’m going to a spa. (Truth be told: this is the only way I know how to get through it.)
Not to mention, I will be able to use (and abuse?) the phrase “I’m sorry, I can’t do laundry/make dinner/load the dishwasher/change our toddler’s diaper/vacuum/drive to the grocery store/get up in the middle of the night and a plethora of other things for WEEKS to come because “I’ve just had a C-section” and I need to heal. And although I’ll sport a scar for the rest of my life, my hooha will remain intact.
Now let’s hope I don’t go into labor before my big day and screw everything up.
Anyone else with me?